My Morality
by ggf83
Summary: They both have their issues. Christine is fighting with herself over her growing attraction to a student, knowing that how she is feeling is completely wrong. Edward is struggling to forgive himself for his past actions toward Bella. They both need someone else to lean on and love. But they will need to fight their morals to be together. Companion fic to 'My Pereche'. Edward/OC
1. Sensitive to a smile

_**A/N:** Hi, everybody! Here's the last installment in the Pereche series. It's not absolutely necessary to have read My Pereche, but it might help you to understand Edward's psychological situation. This is set before the Epilogue of Pereche, after Edward and Jasper's confrontation has ended. You might recognise Christine from that epilogue. _

_I initially expected this to be about five chapters, but I've already written three and it's going to be much longer than that. Maybe about 12? Don't expect me to be a fast updater, though. Real life is INSANE right now. But I do promise that I will never abandon any story I post._

_People need to be thanked here... firstly, to Project Team Beta, for taking the time to pick up all my mistakes. PTB have taught me so much, and I can't recommend their services enough. Secondly, to the real Christine for letting me use her life as inspiration for these characters. You are SO awesome, hon, and I wouldn't have been able to do this without your encouragement. xxx_

_As always, no copyright infringement is intended. All recognizable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, and the original characters belong to me.  
><em>

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><p>I frowned into the mirror, tugging at the hem of my blouse, wishing it was just an inch longer. Logically I knew that nobody would care what I was wearing, but I was still desperate to make a good impression. I'd done this before, and knew how it would all work, but the thought of standing in front of a classroom of teenagers and trying to talk to them about literature still sent me into a cold sweat.<p>

Sometimes I wondered why I had thought being a teacher would be a good idea. I was a million times more comfortable being on the other side of the classroom—being one of the anonymous crowd of students instead of the single one at the front with the whiteboard marker and the big desk.

I checked the driving instructions I had printed out three times before shoving them in my purse and tightening my scarf to protect me from the cool October Pennsylvanian wind.

I had just settled in my car when my phone chirped.

'_Good luck big sis! Don't fall on your face!'_ I rolled my eyes at Amy's text. While she was joking, the potential for actually doing something stupid like that was high with me. I loved her—I really did. She was probably my best friend. But sometimes the sibling teasing would look plain mean to an outsider. Amy was the cheerleader type. And I was…. _not_. We lived in very different worlds. There was no way she'd trip over her own feet in front of a group of students. She'd never embarrass herself in front of them. She'd have them eating out of the palm of her hand within minutes—probably fetching her iced tea and cupcakes with just a brief look. I, however, would have to work incredibly hard to earn their respect. I would have to pretend to be someone else, not myself, in front of them. I would have to pretend to be like Amy.

It was a short drive to the school—the traffic was light on the freeway, and I arrived in twenty minutes. Walking up those stairs into the big red brick building, I couldn't help but feel like the me from seven years ago—the scared little Freshman starting a new school. We were in the same boat—old-me and new-me—unsure about what awaited us behind those squeaky double glass doors.

"I can do this," I whispered to myself as I pulled the door open and at the last second checked around to make sure nobody heard me talking to myself.

There were only a few early students in the halls as I found my way to my classroom. A woman in her forties was writing on the whiteboard when I came in.

"Uh, Mrs. Jameson?"

"Oh!" She looked me up and down, and seemingly happy with what she saw, smiled. "You must be Christine."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, don't be silly, girl. You can call me Maree when the students aren't around."

"That's—uh—okay, Maree." I tried to smile warmly, but I had a feeling it came out as a grimace.

She showed me into the resource room at the back of the class and pointed to a tall cupboard in the corner. "You can store your belongings in there. They tend to get a bit overzealous with the heat in here, so you won't need the scarf."

She kept talking as I stowed my purse, coat, and scarf, keeping my binder out so I could take notes and refer to the lesson plans I'd been sent.

"There won't be anything strenuous for you for the first week. Just observe. I might get you to help hand out worksheets and things like that, but that'd be about it. Just try and feel comfortable in the environment. Next week we'll start to ease you into leading discussions and teaching some topics."

I nodded, fiddling nervously with the clear plastic ring on my finger.

"Relax. They won't bite," she whispered conspiratorially as the first bell rang and we emerged out into the classroom, students filing in quickly.

"They actually _might_," I grumbled to myself as the lesson began. "I've seen their teeth."

Mrs. Jameson—I mean, _Maree_—was actually really nice. She introduced me to a few of the teachers during lunch break and encouraged me to eat at their table. I glanced around the group of world-weary educators, several of their expressions seemingly amused at my wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm. I ate as quickly as I could without really involving myself in their conversation and excused myself as soon as possible.

I escaped out into the cool daylight and hid around the side of the building, breathing in deep lungs full of air. I needed to calm down. Listening to the older teachers hadn't been encouraging. They talked as if they hated their jobs. The kids were horrible, the curriculum was uninspiring, the classrooms were under-resourced. I had never considered any other career, but in the half day I had spent here, I hadn't found one thing to make me excited about the prospect of doing this for the next forty years.

Was I expecting too much? Had I romanticized the world I was entering? Had I watched Dead Poet's Society and Pay it Forward too often and believed they were real life? In a normal Pennsylvanian school what could I really expect apart from the dreary day-to-day of forcing teenagers to listen when they honestly didn't care about literature? I was no Max Medina.

I gazed up at the gray clouds dancing across the sky far above me as I contemplated a future of fear. Fear of speaking in public and fear of falling into a life unfulfilled. Just for once, I would like to have something exciting to look forward to. I would like to know that my future was to be one filled with love and excitement. I would like to feel passion.

And I was quickly beginning to believe that teaching wasn't my passion.

I just needed to make it through this placement in one piece before re-evaluating everything. I needed to struggle through the next six weeks of classes. Maybe there would be something to keep my attention.

We had a free period just after lunch, and I managed to sneak away to check my emails on my phone and send texts to my parents and Amy telling them how everything was going. Well—I may have fibbed a little bit and told them that everything was great. I sure wasn't going to burden them with the knowledge that all the money they had spent on college wasn't making me happy as they hoped.

* * *

><p>There were only two periods left for the day—10th grade English and then AP English Literature and Composition.<p>

I took furious notes all throughout the 10th grade class, just as I had during our morning classes, making notes on both the subject matter and _how_ Maree taught it to the class.

I was flicking through my notes when the AP class came in and took their seats, and Maree filled me in on what the class had been learning. They had just finished a section on Dickens, and would be doing a quiz on what they had learned. They would be starting on Pride and Prejudice tomorrow, which I had read before, but didn't know very well. My face must have shown slight panic at the news, because she handed me a worn copy of the novel.

"Feel free to refresh yourself."

I was busy reading, engrossing myself in the world of Elizabeth Bennett while the class took their quiz, but found I couldn't concentrate. It almost felt like someone was watching me. Every few lines I would glance around, trying to work out where the feeling was coming from, but nobody seemed to be paying me any mind. There was nobody outside the window, Maree was busy grading papers, and the class was frantically writing.

I was officially going mad.

The words began to blur before my eyes, the feeling of being observed never leaving me.

My heart stuttered in shock when I looked up for the eighth time, and I knew my concerns hadn't been those of a raving lunatic. He _was_ staring at me. Who he _was_ remained a mystery, however. A student, sure. That much I could surmise. He sat at the back of the classroom, his long legs stretched out in front of his desk, and seemed to whisper to the tiny black-haired girl next to him. He was rolling his pencil around through his long, pale fingers as he locked eyes with me–eyes which seemed all knowing, like he knew the answers to all the secrets of the world. There was no boredom in his gaze; he just seemed to be studying my face with the faintest hint of curiosity.

"Eyes on your paper, Mr. Masen," Maree barked, almost making me jump out of my seat. I blushed furiously at essentially having been caught staring at a student and looked back down at my book, trying desperately to make sense of the words swimming on the page.

When I chanced a glance back up minutes later, nothing had changed. He was still watching me intently, but now his pencil was on the desk, and he was running one of his hands through his unruly reddish hair.

He was so incredibly calm, not caring that he should be writing—it surely wasn't humanly possible for him to be finished already—and he seemed to unwittingly draw all my attention.

I held my book up high in front of my face, giving me ample camouflage to study him without notice, and looked at him a bit closer. Sure, he was young—that was to be expected in a high school—but his eyes seemed so much older. Maybe he had been through a traumatic experience to give him the expression of someone who had been through several world wars and seen too much death. For a second, his lips looked to be moving impossibly fast, as if he was talking at some supersonic speed, but no sound came out. His skin was perfect—much too perfect for a hormonal teenager. It could almost be made from some kind of porcelain. There was even the slightest hint of a shimmer to it which I hadn't noticed previously.

His outfit didn't match the rest of the boys in the room. It was very preppy. He would have fit in well at the highest caliber frat house up the road at Pitt. The collar of his white button-down was perfectly pressed and stood out starkly against the dark gray of his light wool sweater. And it wasn't denim which covered those impossibly long legs like the rest of the class. Below his desk were a pair of dark camel-colored khakis. His feet were clad in what looked like brand new black Chuck Taylors.

I was intrigued. That was the best way to describe it. He continued to watch me, and I couldn't help but return the favor.

There was something drastically wrong with me. My eyes refused to move from him. _Him_. A student. He was—for all intents and purposes—_my _student. I was his teacher. I was at least four years older than him. Any fascination I felt was completely wrong. Absolutely wrong. Undeniably wrong. Potentially illegal.

I was sure I saw him smirk as I forced my eyes back to my book, not taking in a word that was written.

'_Stop it,'_ I told myself. _'You're not attracted to a student. That's ridiculous. He's good-looking, sure. No denying that. But that's where it ends.'_

BRRRRRRRRRRRR.

The bell rang, startling me from my internal chastisement.

"Hand your quiz in as you leave!" Maree called as they all packed away their books.

As she collected all the papers in, I moved behind the desk and ran my eyes down the register, open to this class.

There it was, in that plain black serif font. Two thirds of the way down the page:

_Masen, Alice  
>Masen, Edward<em>

That must be it.

Edward. His name was Edward.

Not that it mattered. I didn't care about the GQ model who just happened to be my student. Because that was what he was—a student. And that was how he _had_ to remain.


	2. In Colour

_A/N: Since it's Oscars day, here's my acceptance speech. Firstly I'd like to thank the real Christine for letting me plagerise her life and add sparkly vampires to it. Big props also go out to Project Team Beta, because apparently I temporarily forgot what a comma was for, and they kicked my ass for it. And the band is now starting to play that music, so I've run out of time._

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><p><em>Is there a heaven? <em>

_If so, is there a hell?_

_Is there a section of hell set aside for teachers who lust over their students?_

If my dream that night was any indication, I needed to become accustomed to searing hot temperatures and seeing red men with horns.

I dreaded the arrival of last period. I knew the second I saw _him_ sitting there in class, my mind would begin replaying my subconscious escapades. _Our_ escapades, to be precise.

I may not be the most imaginative person when it came to fantasies, but I had awakened to a layer of sweat covering my body and my heart hammering out of my chest.

The fluttering of my heart resumed when Edward walked into the classroom. I felt my cheeks flush bright red as our dream-state encounter was relived in my head in full Technicolor. When I glanced up in the direction of his desk, he was staring at me, mouth slightly agape, with an expression that made me question whether he was thinking the same things I was. It was only when the girl I assumed to be his sister nudged him that he refocused his gaze at the whiteboard.

I was going to get a terrible report for this placement, I was sure. How could she recommend me when I had barely paid any attention to the class, instead caught up in my own drama? I had to be asked several times to pass out the handouts. I couldn't answer a basic question about the book. All I could concentrate on was Edward.

As soon as school was over, I raced to my car, shutting myself inside and resting my head on the steering wheel.

"Idiot. Idiot. Idiot," I chanted, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. Even through my self-chastisement, _his_ face kept flickering through my mind. I was a completely lost cause. I couldn't understand how I had suddenly become so incredibly flustered by this teenage boy. I couldn't recall ever feeling like this before. Sure, I had had crushes on guys before, but most grew out of friendship and an intellectual connection. After getting to know them, then I would start to think of them more and notice their appearance.

This was different. I had never spoken to the boy. I hadn't even heard him speak. Maree hadn't called on him at all in the past two lessons for answers, so I had yet to hear his voice. I hoped desperately that I would get to hear him talk soon and the typical teenage boy speak would break the spell I seemed to be under. Because I mean, really – it was statistically unlikely that he could be that good-looking _and_ intelligent.

Releasing the steering wheel of its death-grip, I turned on some music and leaned back in my seat, trying to calm my brain. I tried to think of _anything_ except Edward. Anything except the compromising positions we had found ourselves in during my dreams.

_Music … drums … drummers … tattoos … ink … pens … writing … classes … Edward …_ _DAMMIT!_

_Try again._

_Car … window … house … bedroom … bed … Edward … Oh, for the LOVE of GOD!_

As I finished internally chastising myself _again_, I felt the strangest feeling, a pricking on the back of my neck.

Ever so slowly, I opened my eyes one at a time and glanced around me. The parking lot had emptied out fairly quickly, and there were only a handful of vehicles remaining. A few kids were throwing backpacks into back seats, oblivious to the rest of the world around them. A couple of kids were busy making out against the passenger door of a car in the middle of the lot. And there – partially hidden by a tree about ten spaces down, was a silvery blue sports car with one kid on either side.

I gasped out loud. Edward and Alice Masen.

Both were looking at me. Alice had a look of curiosity on her tiny features, and a small smile graced her lips. But it was Edward—_Edward_—who shocked me the most. His gaze was so intense, and it was as if he were seeing right through to my soul.

My heart rate accelerated, and I suddenly felt like I couldn't look away. Like some magnetic force was holding me in place.

The sexiest man—_boy_, I had to remind myself—I had ever encountered was staring at me with such intensity I felt like I would burst into flames at any moment.

And the feeling wasn't pleasant.

Self-consciousness swept over me, and I forced my eyes away from him, starting the car with shaking fingers. As I changed into reverse, I glanced back over at them. Alice was saying something, trying to get his attention, and with a frown, Edward climbed into the driver's seat.

I tried to focus on where I was driving, but I couldn't help but notice that his eyes followed my car as I left the lot.

* * *

><p>There was something different about him. And not just in an "I want to jump him" way. Both the Masens seemed different from the other kids in the class, and I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was. As it was, I didn't seem to be the only one who thought there was something up. The other students gave them a wide berth, and the siblings only ever seemed to talk to each other. Which was a shame, really, because more than once I had noticed Alice gazing longingly at the popular kids, almost as if she wanted to talk to them.<p>

I was quite proud that I managed to make it through the remainder of the week without embarrassing myself further. Sure, I still dreamed about Edward every night, but I kept my conduct completely professional in the classroom. Friday was an unusual day on campus, since the students were more disruptive than usual from Halloween excitement. But it was the easiest day by far to keep my thoughts on the lessons, as both Edward and Alice were absent from school. It didn't stop me from thinking about him, however—it was just that now I kept wondering where he was. Was he sick? Did he need someone to nurse him better?

_Bad Christine! Don't think things like that!_

I let myself into my apartment after my first full week, threw my bag in the corner, and collapsed on my bed. Working was _so_ tiring! Whoever had decided on this whole "school starts at eight" thing deserved to die. Or… he was probably already dead. Whatever. Semantics. I'd raise him from the dead and kill him again. However you killed zombies. I wasn't exactly schooled on the whole horror movie genre.

Deep in my contemplation of the best way to eradicate the undead, my phone started ringing from within my purse. With a loud groan, I managed to haul myself up and across the room to retrieve it.

"This better be good, Amy!" I answered. "I'm about ready to take a nap."

"You've never napped in your life."

"That's how tired I am. I'm considering a career with better work hours. Maybe waitressing or pole dancing."

"Nobody wants to see you attempt to spin around a pole, you doofus."

"Shut up," I grumbled. "Why are you calling me at this god-forsaken hour?"

"Four in the afternoon?"

"I don't know. Whatever. It's dark."

"That's because you were too lazy to open your curtains this morning."

"Oh yeah."

"You need to come out with us tonight."

My back leaning against the wall, I slowly slid down until I was sitting on the rug. "I really don't think I do."

"Yes, you _do_! Please? I'll be your best friend!"

I rolled my eyes. "The only reason you want me to come out is so I can buy you booze."

"No!" She sounded legitimately wounded at my accusation, but she was a good actress when she wanted to be. "I just miss you. I want to hang out with you."

"And drive you and your friends to some underclassmen party?"

"No! Well…. If you were going to drive over here, you couldn't drink anyway, right? So being the DD wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience."

"Amy, no. I am not driving half an hour to take you to a party."

"I want you to _come_ to the party. And it's not a party, anyway."

"It's Halloween, and you're not going to a party?"

"It's just a bunch of people hanging out at Michael's place. Um…. In costumes."

I sighed heavily. Of _course_ there'd be costumes. "Who's Michael?"

"He's a friend of Justin."

"And Justin is…."

"Seriously? How can you ask who Justin is? We've been dating for two weeks. Do you not listen to me, like, ever? I can't believe you don't listen to me."

Cue more rolling of my eyes. I could swear I'd never heard her mention this Justin guy. "I listen to you. I just had a temporary mind blank."

"I know how you can make it up to me for your lack of interest in my life."

"How?"

"Come out with us tonight. It's not going to be late, and you can crash on our floor. I want to see my sister. I want you to meet Justin. I want you to have a bit of fun on Halloween."

I couldn't say no to her, and she knew it. She could guilt me into anything. It was how it had been our whole lives. Amy got her way. That's just how things worked.

"Fine. I'll come and see you. But I'm leaving at twelve whether you're ready to go or not. And I'm not dressing up."

"Deal." The smile I could hear in her voice was worth it. "Come over at about seven. We're getting pizzas before we go."

"Fine," I repeated.

"Oh, and Christine?" I heard just before I hung up.

"Yeah?"

"If you wanted to pick up some Captain on the way over, I'd love you forever."

I hung up the phone without answering her. But we both knew I'd be stopping at the liquor store on my way.

* * *

><p>My car was filled with the noise of scantily-clad, giggling twenty-year-olds. The second they had climbed into the car, Amy had swiped the alcohol I had bought, and they started passing it between them, taking swigs and cringing in turn.<p>

"Here! It's right here!" Amy pointed to a house lit up like Times Square, and I came to a stop.

Her friends climbed out the back, but I held Amy back and looked into her sparkling eyes. "Seriously. Two hours tops. Then I'm leaving. If you're not ready to leave by then, you need to get a cab, okay?"

"Ni-Ni, if you'd just relax you might actually find that you have fun. It's okay to let your hair down every once in a while, you know."

"You know this isn't my idea of a good time. But I'm here because you wanted me to come. Two hours."

"Fine." She moved to pull herself out of the car in some acrobatic move that I had yet to learn – she was so graceful but managed to keep her knees together, avoiding any tragic Britney Spears-esque underwear-flashing incidents. "Oh." She turned back to me at the last second. "Can I borrow some money for a cab?"

"No!"

With a giggle, she slammed the passenger door closed and waited impatiently with her friends in the middle of the road.

I hated parties. Hated them with a passion. And even more than that, I hated the types of parties Amy always insisted on attending. I still refused to go to any frat or sorority parties on principle, but even these off-campus ones seemed to be the same types of people. They were wall-to-wall beautiful bodies writhing in drunken bliss. And they were enough to make me want to vomit into my wine glass.

As expected, I quickly found myself in a corner, leaning against the wall, sipping my orange juice with a splash of bubbles – just enough to make me feel like I was partaking in the alcohol-fueled atmosphere without making me drunk. I knew I could drink twenty of these concoctions before I was anywhere near the legal limit to drive home. And I only planned to have two. Amy was off dancing and networking, making sure everyone noticed her costume. She told me that she was a butterfly, but to me it just looked like she was wearing underwear. There was a tall, muscular boy she was kissing every so often, so I could only assume that he was the aforementioned "Justin". Every so often she would venture back to my people-watching vantage-point, make some comment about another guest, urge me to dance with her, and flounce off again.

Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I checked the time once again. Half an hour and I was leaving, Amy or no Amy.

Glancing around the room, I noticed a gorgeous blonde cave-woman looking at me with her eyes narrowed over the head of her short, black-haired, fairy of a friend. They were whispering to each other while she glared at me. I quickly looked down at myself to check I hadn't spilled my drink over my shirt.

The short one beckoned to someone in the other room.

My eyes flicked to the doorway.

My heart faltered as Edward Masen walked into the living room, his eyes instantly landing on me.

_Fuck my life._


	3. Running

_**A/N: **Yes, I'm aware it's been forever since the last chapter, but I did promise that I wouldn't leave it unfinished..._

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><p>My breathing was erratic as I felt a panic attack coming on.<p>

Edward, Alice and their equally beautiful friend were all watching my impending breakdown.

With shaking limbs, I pulled myself out of the chair and skirted around the room, attempting to get to Amy without having to get too close to my students.

It took several seconds of me pulling on Amy's arm to get her attention. "I'm leaving. Are you coming now?" I told her, my voice shaking.

"But we have another twenty minutes. You promised."

"Something's come up. I have to go now."

She looked around her, torn. After deliberation, she looked at me and sighed. "Fine. I'll get a cab later."

With a wave of her hand, she went back to dancing, and it seemed that I had been officially dismissed.

I had to pass through the living room again to reach the front door, and when I paused in the doorway, I noticed that Edward's group had moved into the middle of the room. I wouldn't be able to avoid them without climbing over furniture. And that would never end well for me. A concussion would be quite likely.

Steeling myself, I focused on the door and built up all my self control to walk past them without averting my eyes. I didn't know what would happen if I actually looked directly at him.

One step. Two. I gripped my purse tighter. Three steps. Four. Five. I could feel them just to my left, watching me. Six….

I felt something brush against my arm and I stumbled slightly at the shock. My head whipped round and I saw Edward towering over me, reaching out to steady me. He was costume-less like me. He didn't need a costume to look like he belonged there.

"Sorry, Chri—I mean, Miss Walker," a deep melodic voice apologized. It was the first time I had heard his voice, and it was beautiful. Sure, I'm certain that boys don't want to be called beautiful, but there was no other way to describe the way it sounded. In any other situation, I would be happy if he just read the phone book to me. Anything to hear it over and over again.

He let me go, and cool fingertips brushed down my arm as he lowered them. The last of his touch was briefly on the back of my hand. I shuddered at the contact, at the indescribable feelings coursing through me. The only thought I could decipher floating through my head was that it felt _right._

A second later, I came to my senses. It wasn't _right_. It was completely wrong. He was a _student_. There was _nothing_ right about it. Touching him was wrong. Wanting to do it again was even worse.

I ran. I was filled with shame at how I felt, and I needed to get away from people before I broke down. Slamming the front door behind me, I was across the street, not even noticing until the last second the car which almost hit me, and leaning against my own vehicle. I was shaking as I tried to get the key in the lock, and it took several tries to get the door open.

Once I was safely ensconced inside, I felt my tears leaking. I must be a terrible person for thinking about Edward in such a manner.

I sighed. _Edward_. If only he was older. If only he wasn't my student. From what I had seen so far, he was the perfect man. I wanted to be able to talk to him without the rest of the class around. I wanted to be able to see him outside of school. I wanted to touch him again.

But none of this could happen because I was his teacher. Not only would I never get a teaching license, but I wasn't sure how I could live with myself.

Five weeks. I had to survive five weeks in his school before I could get on with my life and never see him again.

I knew that they would be the hardest five weeks of my life, knowing just how good it felt when he touched me, and to be unable to do anything about it.

Starting the engine, I slowly pulled out into the street. As I drove past the scene of the party, my eyes were drawn to the front door of the house. There in the doorway, with the glow of the party behind him, Edward stood, his hands in his hair as he watched me go into the night.

* * *

><p>Monday was my first day of actually teaching classes. I was using Maree's lesson plan, and she was prompting me whenever I got stuck, but other than that, the lessons were all my own words. Words which didn't seem to come out of my mouth in any credible way. My voice shook the whole day, and it was more than just nerves at having to speak in front of the class.<p>

Only one class went smoothly. Ironically, it was Edward's class. You know _why_ it went well? He wasn't there. When the final bell rang and neither he nor his sister were at their desks, I felt a strange sense of relief flood me. For the first time that day, I could concentrate. I wasn't worrying about seeing him again. I wasn't thinking about what I would say if he approached me. I was clear-headed, and I knew what I was teaching. In fact, I would venture to say that what I taught actually made sense!

Tuesday went much the same way. No Masons were present at school, and it was bittersweet. On one hand, I could concentrate so much better without Edward's eyes drilling into me, but at the same time, I wanted to see him.

Wednesday morning I woke up covered in sweat. And not for the reason I had done so the previous week. When I tried to remember what I had dreamed about, all I could come up with was a feeling of tremendous loss and pain. None of the circumstances surrounding those feelings would come to the forefront of my mind, much to my frustration. As I slowed my breathing to normal, things didn't seem right. I felt like I was coming down with something—my body ached, I could feel a headache coming on, and I felt flushed.

I briefly considered calling the school and telling them I was sick, but felt instantly guilty. With only six weeks of placement to learn from, it would be stupid to miss a day unless I really was sick. Maybe it was just lingering effects from my dream that was making me feel crappy. Stupid subconscious. Always causing me trouble recently.

After a brief phone call to my mother to confirm our plans for my birthday weekend, I made it to school. If I was honest, I did feel a little bit better as I entered the building. Almost like stepping over the threshold took some invisible weight off my shoulders, taking some of the aching with it. It was odd how instant the reaction was.

The last period of the day came way too slowly. Teaching was tough, and teaching the tenth graders was becoming the bane of my existence. They wouldn't concentrate no matter what we were learning. Their hormones seemed to be running the show, and most of them seemed to want to just flirt with their classmates. There was too much testosterone coming from the boys, who felt the need to show off at all times. Sometimes I felt like I was working in a zoo; Discovery Channel should have done a series set in my classroom.

When the seniors walked into the room, my posture instantly became straighter and my face became brighter. I found I couldn't stop myself from focusing my eyes on the entrance, scanning each face that entered.

It had been almost five days since I had seen him, and relief filled me when Edward walked into the room, one of the last to sit down. Like a light switch had been turned on, I instantly felt better. All the sickness I had felt this morning was magically gone, and the world felt right-side up again. He was here, in front of me. Things were good once more.

And when Edward glanced up at me, slight concern on his features for a second before they morphed into happiness, I thought I would float away.

When Maree reminded the class that I would be taking the lesson, I couldn't help but glance over at him, and to my surprise, the expression he was sporting was that of pride. Proud of me? Surely not. Surely that was just wishful thinking on my part. Yet, as I continued to lecture the class, stuttering and tripping over my own tongue until I was sure I no longer made any sense, he watched me in rapt attention with a small smile upon his face. To be honest, it was slightly disconcerting.

It was a huge relief to be able to give them a short assignment to complete of their own writing, and to be able to stop talking and sit down. I had been using Mr Darcy as an example of how some characters seem to act badly, but they are just acting out of their own fears. So I asked the class to write one page about their own fears and why they might make others think badly of them.

The assignment kept them busy for the remainder of the lesson, and they all handed their papers to me on their way out.

Edward and Alice was two of the last to approach me, and as Edward handed his paper to me, his fingers brushed against mine. That same feeling I got when he touched me at the party was there again. I really hadn't been imagining it. It was something unusual and my fingers twitched as he left, seeking out a repeat performance of his touch.

I took the papers home to grade. These were AP students, so most had written about fear of failure, fear of disappointing their parents, fear of not getting into the best college. Some had written about fear of what other people thought of them. One was very different and caught my attention straight away. Sure, the name at the top of the page was the first thing to make my heart flutter, but what he wrote….

'_What I am afraid of  
>by Edward Mason<em>

'_Recently, my life has been turned upside down, and every day is now lived in abject fear. _

'_I want her to see me for me, and not for the role I have been playing for others' benefits. I am not who she thinks I am. Mostly, I am terrified that she will cling to what she thinks she knows about me, and in a month's time, I will never see her again. If that happens, I do not know what I will do._

'_But then I think about what would happen if she did accept me. What then? I would tell her all my history and all my secrets, and how could she possibly love me once she knows? How could someone so sweet and pure love a monster like me? I have committed terrible wrongs – some against my own family. I don't deserve her. _

'_My fears make me draw into my own head. I know those around me consider me to be aloof. I know they speculate that I think I'm too good for them. I struggle to talk to them all because all I can think about is her. Yet I can't talk to her because I am worried she will reject me._

'_I am so afraid of losing her, and even more afraid of the consequences of having her. I agonize over the potential repercussions all day until I finally see her. And then, just one fond look, one glancing touch, one brief glimpse into her mind is enough to make me forget myself. I want so desperately to make her mine, yet I don't know how to tell her. _

'_Maybe this will be enough.'_

I dropped the paper to the table, shaking. _'Maybe this will be enough'_? What did he mean by that? By "this" did he mean this confession? Knowing that I would be the only one to read it?

"Get a grip. You're reading too much into this," I told myself out loud.

I read it over again. In a month's time, he would never see this girl again? I was leaving the school in a month.

No. It couldn't mean what I thought it meant. It couldn't be me he was writing about. I was projecting my own ridiculous crush onto a poor young boy. A young boy who seemed to have some issues a psychologist should listen to.

I quickly scribbled an "A" on the top of the paper and flipped it over, ready for the next one. I needed to stop analyzing Edward's deepest fears and forget about it.

But as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, one thing kept running through my head: "I want so desperately to make her mine."


End file.
